


In the Background

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Video Chat, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft has to make a video call to Greg and it doesn't go quite to plan.  Fortunately...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 68
Kudos: 272
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection





	In the Background

**Author's Note:**

> FYI - [Room Rater](https://twitter.com/ratemyskyperoom) on Twitter is a real (and fun) account...

“No, Doctor Watson, I have no idea where Sherlock would have acquired a landmine… oh, I have little doubt the police were not at all delighted to have discovered his actions… no, I feel he will receive little credit for attempting his experiment in an aesthetically-displeasing area of the city… true, the lockdown situation would have reduced the number of potential casualties, however, he _was_ observed and his argument that the only fatalities possible were those of ugly buildings will not weigh favorably with the courts… of that, I feel most certain, actually, since Sherlock’s conduct when his plans have been foiled is nothing short of juvenile… I see no reason to do so… that is not my fault… I do not subscribe to the paradigm of ‘my turn,’ so that will not impel any action on my part… the food in Her Majesty’s prisons is nourishing, if not delectable, none of which is applicable, given Sherlock’s allergy to the basic precepts of self-care, such as eating… I fail to fathom your degree of concern, since Sherlock’s incarceration would award you a most relaxing holiday… ah, we have reached the bribery stage, always a joy… you insult me, sir… still an insult… closer… very well, I will tend to it, but I expect my spoils by nightfall.”

Mycroft disconnected the call and rubbed his mental hands together at the thought of a full six blown glass birds to carefully deposit into his safe. That would satisfy his obligation for birthday, Christmas and Mother’s Day gifts for Mummy for two full years. And Doctor Watson had such a laudable eye for what women of a certain age preferred for their mantle and side-table décor…

However, he now had to fulfill his part of the pact and that mandated interaction with a certain Detective Inspector. Which was certainly no hardship on his part. Any opportunity to speak to the man was one to be snatched and coveted, for he certainly could not simply phone Gregory Lestrade to… chat. There had to be a perfectly reasonable and pressing reason to communicate lest there be indications of… something… that must never rise in the Detective Inspector’s mind. All must be professional, above board, based on a foundation of necessity and decorum. Not… anything else.

Especially since this was the sort of situation that would normally mandate an actual visit to the Detective Inspector’s office. Or a summoning of him here. As a show of respect, of course. Not the summoning part, which was more a cordial invitation than a directive, but that he make his request in person and not through the cold avenue of the telephone. It was an imposition on the man, after all. And, at times, one that might require the highly-honorable Detective Inspector to walk a very fine line between his professional ethics and an unsavory act, so he could do no less than meet him face to face and not hide behind the impersonal distance of a telephone connection.

Given the COVID-19 situation, that visit must occur remotely, though it was now utterly permissible, without the slightest insinuation of… anything in particular… to initiate a video call so as to see all proper request-making obligations met in full. Though, truth be told, he despised this technology. What you could not observe or was muddied by the artificiality of the audio and video transmission was legion and made his work all the more difficult. Not that he worried about such things with the Detective Inspector. The reasons he might have for lying, obfuscating, concealing, diverting and all such nonsense were few and trivial.

Besides, one could not forget, the poor man had the adorable habit of scratching his left ear when he even attempted something sneaky. Very well… send a text… another deplorable act of technology… to discover if now is a convenient time for a conversation. Hopefully, in a few minutes… or now. Thank you, Gregory Lestrade, for your admirable alacrity. Commencing video call… now.

“Good afternoon, Detective Inspector. I am delighted you had a moment free.”

“Very happy to oblige, Mr. Holmes. Very… very happy indeed.”

Au contraire. That was not a happy pause. Happiness was not evident. Why was Gregory squinting as if suffering a headache? Or… peering…

“Is something amiss, Detective Inspector?”

“Ummm… no. Really, not at all.”

There was something amiss.

“Detective Inspector, I am well aware you are concealing information. It is clear even without evidence of your ear scratching.”

“What?”

Must not divulge highly secret information to the person about whom the information is secret.

“Nothing of import. Now, return attention to your squinting and allow me to join your circle of knowledge on the subject.”

“Do I have to?”

“I feel it wise. It will surely ease your conscience and that is a heady thing in these terrible times.”

“You have a point. Alright… your room scarcely merits a 2/10 and it hurts my soul. There, I said it. It’s not right for a man of your station and I’m surprised your PA has allowed it.”

That was not clarifying. And there was no ear scratching so somehow the confused ramblings were sincere.

“I… I honestly understand each of your words, but none of their combined meaning, Detective Inspector.”

“Your video room. I was rating it. Like that Room Rater on Twitter.”

“That provided a remarkable lack of assistance.”

“Room Rater! They evaluate the rooms of people doing Zoom or whatnot and give them a rating. Advice, too, to make it better. Which people take! You see some bloke get a 4/10, then the next time, he’s turned on that lamp or moved his treadmill or put a picture on the wall and gets upgraded. People even have rivals and call each other out for things once they’ve been rated. It’s all in fun, of course, but I have to say, it’s helped me up my game.”

“Up your game?”

“Absolutely! Note – potted plant. Wasn’t there before, was it?”

Hmmmm….

“No, I do not recall you having an office plant.”

“Exactly. Put myself a plant there and did you notice the framed map? It was just tacked up there before, but a few quid got me a frame and now, voila! Nice, huh?”

“The frame _does_ enhance its appearance.”

“And my bookshelf…”

“Ah. It has books.”

“Correct! Which it didn’t have before. Files, coffee mugs, that sort of rubbish, but now it’s got actual books. I didn’t go so far as to requisition a new, better-looking bookcase since that might be taking matters a bit too far, but I did tuck in a few fun things to liven it up.”

Fun is such an encompassing word, Detective Inspector, which very much works in your favor here.

“Yes. You did. Is that a rubber duck?”

“A _policeman_ rubber duck. And a colorful paperweight Donovan gave me for Christmas. Actually, it was one of those secret gift games and the spending limit was £2, so I suspect she found it at a charity shop, but it’s good for a splash of color, along with my duck and robot figurine.”

“You have put quite the effort into this, Detective Inspector.”

“I’m in competition with Dimmock and I will not lose to that pillock for love nor money.”

“Most bloodthirsty of you.”

“Thank you! Now… you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Do you check yourself out before you do one of these calls?”

That sounded dire.

“I… not particularly.”

“Go to your control thingie and set it so you can see me and you at the same time.”

“Must I?”

Because I am rather frightened to do that after speaking with you.

“You must or I can’t help you.”

There was no shirking now or it would serve as an insult, which is a hanging offense when committed against the Detective Inspector. Very well… on we go…

“Dear lord.”

“It’s good you trim your nostrils, since we’re sort of looking right up them.”

This was horrifying.

“Easy to fix, though. Put some books or something under your laptop and boost it up. Push it back a little, too, while you’re at it. Higher… maybe one more book? Ok, shove it back a touch… better! Now, let’s remedy the lighting.”

Yes, because a less-proximal view of the undead is still a tragic view of the undead. Good heavens, that is a ghastly visage.

“You have a desk lamp, right? Is it on?”

“Yes.”

“Ooh. Is it in the next building?”

“Should I move it closer?”

“Yeah, at least for video calls. Things look better with some light and since you don’t have much to claim for natural lighting, that’ll have to do. Pull it closer. Bit more. There. That’s better. Takes away a lot of that pasty-grey you had going. It’d be more successful if the wall wasn’t sort of grey, also, but we can’t fix that now. Can’t fix Her Majesty’s feet, either, but…”

“You cannot see her feet in that portrait.”

“I was being… general. And it’s a grand portrait, don’t get me wrong, but the whole thing can’t fit into the frame, so that’s the only part of her we have to work with. Plants would help. Do you have any? One, maybe, you could sit on the floor behind you so there’s some green coming up and tickling the Queen’s toes, so to speak? I’d say do one on each side, but that may be a bit much. Look staged and awkward.”

“I can acquire one in a trice.”

“That’s fast, right?”

“Very.”

“Do it.”

Mycroft found his legs obeying immediately, darting out to the antechamber of his office so he could snatch Anthea’s potted palm from the floor, wave off her angry protest, slam the door behind him and put the pot down so that the a few fronds of foliage overlapped the lower corner of the portrait frame. Then retook his seat and adjusted his tie.

“Better?”

“Much! Now, you still have that lovely glass globe on your desk, right?”

“I do.”

“Try putting beside you on the other side from the plant. Even just half in the frame would balance it nicely. I’d say move that enormous floor lamp I love so much but, again, it's your workspace and has to stay functional _for_ work, which that big lovely could impede a touch.”

Gregory admired his lamp. That was important information. The Detective Inspector, despite his rubber duck, had excellent taste.

“Alright, let me… oh, it is rather heavy, so one moment… there. Does that suffice?”

“I’d say it does. Looks very nice, in point of fact. You can always put it back in its original position and have something lighter and easier to move about ready to set out in its place, if you don’t want to leave it there. It’s only for a short while longer, hopefully, we’ll have to rely on this video stuff, so pulling a nice bit of sculpture from your desk to stand smartly next to you isn’t much of a hardship. What do you think so far?”

Mycroft turned a discerning eye towards the new presentation and had to admit it looked leagues better than before. Of course, exceeding the appearance of an upright corpse warming Queen Elizabeth’s toes was not a difficult thing to achieve.

“I have to admit that the overall tableau is much more appealing than before.”

“Which is what a man of your stature should have. Something that’s both professional and appealing. It _is_ too bad you don’t have more room behind you, though. For depth. That’s always nice.”

I want to look nice!

“I… should I move?”

“Is that where you normally do this sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

“Then, no. You can’t make doing your work harder, not for something as superficial as beautifying your Zoom room.”

“What is my current rating?”

“Oh… I’d say 7/10.”

Seventy percent? That was not an exceptional score.

“That is all?”

“We’ve got some substantial things working against us. The grey wall, monarch’s feet and lack of depth. BUT we’ve done a lot to minimize those, I’m feeling good about it all. I’d say for general business, you’re in great shape. Probably head and shoulders above that boring Whitehall lot you go on about at times.”

That was true. Verifiably and unassailably true.

“If you were having to deliver a televised message or speaking at a conference, I’d say having a second location set up just for that purpose would be smart, but I doubt you’ll be doing much of either.”

“No, that is somewhat assured.”

“Then you’re good! Completely not a hostage video anymore and something many would admire if they saw it..”

Thank heavens. The severity of the need in this situation could not be overstated.

“… of course, if you’re chatting with a mate, you can always use a virtual background.”

“Pardon?”

“A virtual background! Here, watch. Tah-dah!”

That… was unexpected.

“Is that Munchkinland?”

“Got it in one. How about this?”

“Oh! I know him… not the chap frozen in the laboratory… Iron Man. You are being smirked at by Iron Man.”

“Two for two! See, it’s just a bit of silliness you can have with a friend. Anderson and I have taken to Zooming each other and competing for who has the best background. There’s loads to choose from out there. The BBC even released a slew of empty rooms from their programmes to use for free. You can find them for most any film, television offering, books… people do art of those… it’s endless, really. Somehow… I think I remember this correctly. I’m sending you a link. Give it a look and see if anything there appeals.”

A link? Oh, there it is. Ah ha… the URL is somewhat self-identifying, Gregory, you ingenious man… and what a feast for the eyes I have found…

“Delightful! Let me see… I shall download this one and… ummm…”

“Go back to the control thingie area and there’s a setting for doing a virtual background.”

“Alright, one moment…. not there… oh, there you are. And… behold! I am in the TARDIS.”

“That you are! You look good in it, too. I adore that background, I do admit. Very classic and classy both. Excellent choice and excellent fit for you, too. Not proper for work use, but certainly for having a laugh with a chum or frightening Sherlock who is convinced you have no imagination, sense of humor or personal interests besides cake.”

“I shall find something positively shocking and turn the ridiculous boy to stone at first glance.”

“That’ll be a measure of peace for me, so if you need any help finding a stone-turner, just ask. Glad to put my shoulder in for this one.”

Mycroft smiled warmly before he realized the _was_ smiling warmly and felt somewhat astonished that his face remembered how to make that particular expression. At least, in a situation where it could be viewed by another person. He often smiled warmly after a conversation with the Detective Inspector, though in the privacy of his car once the conversation was concluded. And after they had spoken on the phone. Or when he was on the phone with Sherlock when he was ranting and raving about the latest affront committed against the universe _by_ the Detective Inspector. His warm smiles appeared to have a theme.

“I appreciate greatly your pledge of support.”

And clear statement of interaction beyond the purely professional. Warm-smile courage was a buoying thing.

“Anytime. In any case, now that we have your background sorted, I suppose I should see Sherlock bailed and tied behind a police vehicle to be dragged home.”

“Do feel free to charge me for the petrol. I would hate to have the police service absorb the cost.”

“In that case, how about…”

Gregory… why are you evincing a shy schoolboy expression? Are you aware you are doing it? It is breathtakingly attractive and I would fear for your safety were you to display such in public. The furor amongst the people with functional eyes, all wanting to bask in the light of your impish smile would certainly merit news coverage and I know how you hate being the target of our press corps.

“… you pay your petrol invoice with a bite of lunch?”

“You… wish me to purchase myself a lunch to repay the fictional cost?”

“Not quite. I was thinking… we’re both using virtual backgrounds, which are friend appropriate, not work appropriate, so we should do something friendly to celebrate. It’s getting on to the lunch hour, actually past the lunch hour, but I don’t imagine you eat lunch at a regular time anymore than I do, so… maybe you could order sandwiches or something for us and we could continue chatting. If you have the time available, that is. I know what a busy man you are but we all need to eat, right?”

Gregory… wanted to lunch? To share a meal? Even at distance this was a definitive statement of… something. Friend-ish? Does one evince an impish smile to initiate a friendship? That seemed misplaced. One fell into that naturally. Or so it seemed. Not that he had any real experience with such a thing but media portrayed the situation as one where individuals had shared or common interests, enjoyed each other’s company, conversed collegially with ease…

Zeus’s beard.

They did those things! They had common interests. Sherlock, for one, but there were others. They had occasionally discussed music, though their tastes differed, Gregory was fully capable of conversing on the topic in general and those conversations had been most enjoyable. Made the time waiting for Sherlock to be released from a cell or hospital examining table far more bearable. And that was but a single example! Further, there was no question they enjoyed shared time. Such as now! Gregory was clearly enjoying himself. Easy, light-hearted discourse… all the necessary components were in place. And, one could add, not that it was required, but certainly desired, the measure of trust they shared. The substantial history of joining forces for the cause of law and order, protecting the city and its citizens.

They were friends. Or, to hedge the wager, _friendly_.

One did not flash the smile of impishness to a friend before requesting additional time together. With food.

Zeus’s _flowing_ beard.

Matters were taking a turn, it seemed.

While Gregory waited patiently for a response.

“But, of course! I would gladly fund such a thing and, further, enjoy the spoils in your virtual company.”

That was the proper response, correct? A proper response, at minimum. For… something. Something a step, perhaps, beyond friendship. Which he had, apparently, just signaled he was eager to investigate. Had he meant to do that? In the theoretical sense, of course his eagerness was well-placed. In the practical sense… yes? That was waffly. Cowardly. That was not the Holmes way. He must… embrace the theoretical. Carry forth with this conjoined luncheon and demonstrate… whatever it was one demonstrated when one held theoretical agreement with impish non-friendship smiles.

“Brilliant! I’ll let you choose whatever you see fit for a bite and we can use the time while we wait to test-drive new virtual backgrounds. You’ve got a good artistic eye, so you can help me choose my next weapon in my battle with Anderson.”

“I would be honored! You shall emerge victorious, Gregory, this I vow. Oh… I do apologize, Detective Inspector, for the familiarity.”

Though our theoretical beyond-friendship does make such a thing somewhat apropos.

“No need to apologize; I’d prefer it, actually. Is it alright if I reciprocate?”

I would break into heart wrenching sobs if you do not.

“Most certainly. I award you free license to make use of my given name.”

“George?”

Said with impish smile. This is marvelous! Must demonstrate an equal amount of scampish humor.

“Rumbleford, actually. But it is somewhat a family secret.”

Greg laughed loudly and with more ease than he thought possible with his spleen stuck in his throat. What was he doing! Using his patented naughty-boy grin on Mycroft Holmes? The one that used to guarantee him a fun and naked night when he flashed it at a pub or club. Years ago, that is. Decades, really. He was old. But so was Mycroft! Solidly middle-aged and absolutely gorgeous. Saying that in his head, correct? Not aloud, which would make him dissolve into a slimy puddle of embarrassment. Ok, no appalled look on Mycroft’s face, so perhaps a few more words about the man could be mentally said in perfect safety. Mycroft Holmes was not only gorgeous, but stately, sophisticated, smart, funny and staggeringly handsome. Which was another way of saying gorgeous, but nothing mattered in Mental Safety City.

To carry on along the streets of this fine city… they’d been friendly, sort of. Cordial and it veered solidly into the friend area with increasing frequency, so… yes, they _were_ friendly. But, now, he was tossing out his time-tested roguish sex grin like bread to the ducks. Right in front of the most regal gander imaginable. Who ate it! Ate the grin bread and asked for more. What did he do now?

Ok… steady on, Greg. You leaped into the duck pond with your loaf of grin bread and now you can’t just float there and let it all go soggy. Mycroft’s having a nibble and it’s on you to make certain the bread stays fresh and tasty and there’s enough to last through today and… beyond?

It was possible. Theoretically, at least. If there was bread now, there could be bread another day. Why not? Bread existed. So did days. Besides this one, that is. Not tomorrow, of course. That would look desperate. No desperation for Mycroft Duck. That would not do. Feel out things a little more then make a move. This wasn’t the only bread in his larder. He had more and wasn’t scared to use it! Maybe.

“I’ll keep it close to vest. Got any other secrets I should know about? Flaming skull tattoo? Stubborn little place in your hair that needs extra product to force it into submission?”

“Gregory… I am not certain your security clearance permits me to reveal such things.”

“Drat. Think you can give it a boost before our next lunch?”

Oops. That sort of came storming out through the Grin of Pub Pulling. Laden with bread. Lots and lots of bread. With caution thrown to the wind like a bread-wielding champion.

_____

By the tomb of Chaucer… that was… a declaration. Of… something. Couched in a moment of bonhomie, making it all the somethinger. Which was not a word, but acted fully in the place of a word because it was apt. And within the confines of his mind, such mangling of the English language could be duly noted, then filed away and forgotten. Unless it became, again, apt in the future. For now, though, must respond verbally with clear and unequivocal intent. And humor. Cannot forget the humor. This was paramount.

“That _is_ possible, though, there are tests that must be successfully passed before such a thing can be done.”

“Are they hard? I wasn’t terribly good with exams at school.”

“I have faith in you, Gregory. First. French baguette or standard sandwich loaf?”

Bread! My gander offers me bread… oh fuck, my brain is broken. But who cares! Mycroft is bringing the humor hard and fast and that means… something. Not going to waste time puzzling out what, exactly, because overthinking never led to good things. And this was a good thing he _absolutely_ wanted to be led to.

“I’m going to say… depends. Bacon sandwich – give me the standard, familiar stuff my mum would serve me as a kid. Most other things, though… baguette. Do I pass?”

“This first hurdle, most certainly. There shall be others, though. Be wary, they may appear at any time or place.”

“Got my police senses on full alert.”

“Excellent. Now, while I place an order, do choose your first candidate for your background challenge. I will pass judgement when I have secured our repast.”

With an unspoken ‘GO!’ signal each man dove into their task, hoping their hearts would slow down before they had a coronary event and died before they got to enjoy this dynamic they were building. That would be a tragedy for the ages. It would exceed the eruption of Mount Vesuvius by leaps and bounds. No question about it. Though… an erupting volcano _would_ make a splendid virtual background when one was chatting with a friend. Or a more-than-friend, for that matter…


End file.
